Witless
by rurousha
Summary: How to be a better (worse?) demon.


"I was never really interested in the torturing bit, you know."

Crowley looked up from his phone. Someone was taking a seat across from him in the coffee shop where he was waiting for Aziraphale. No one was supposed to sit there. Crowley whole-heartedly believed that no one was but Aziraphale was going to be sitting within a table of him, so no one did. Usually.

This young man, however, seemed to think himself an exception. He had what looked like a burn scar along his left jaw line and fish scales across his right temple and eye.

So, definitely not Aziraphale, then.

The demon sat down rather gingerly, like he wasn't quite sure how a chair worked, and looked around the table and its various instruments awkwardly.

"Oh?" Crowley stuttered, more than a little surprised at the company that was inserting himself upon him. He had seen only glimpses of demonic presence in the years since the Apocalypse That Wasn't, and this floundering intruder wasn't someone he recognized. He had a few things he would like the say to the newcomer, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of what they were. He didn't look like he was interested in dragging Crowley back to Hell at the moment, at least, so that was something.

"And I'm not great at the whole temptation thing. Did you know that it's taken 17 demons to do what you used to do up here, just in the greater London area?"

"Well, right." This, at least, made sense to Crowley, and he was rather a sucker for flattery. "You've got to start with a good understanding of people – "

"I don't really understand people," the demon interrupted. "Did you know some of them are afraid of deep water? Not even holy water or boiling water or anything. Just deep. Like, you put them on a rickety raft in the ocean and it's really dark blue below them and sometimes all they see is a vague movement down there, and that's all it takes to scare them witless. That's what I did, you know. Scared the damned. Didn't touch them or anything, just scared them. It was great fun."

That did sound like fun, Crowley thought.

"But now they've pulled people up from other departments to make up for losing you, and none of us really know what we're doing. I've been slapped twice."

Crowley believed it.

"And then it's all bright up here, and some of the higher ups keep arguing about getting Armageddon restarted, but no one's agreeing on how, and all the excitement about fighting angels has kind of worn off anyway, and – "

Crowley shoved a biscuit that was meant to be for Aziraphale into the demon's mouth to get him to shut up. "Alright, that's enough now. You're going to be silent for at least five seconds."

There was a pause in which the demon was obviously counting to himself. Crowley let him. Then the demon started to chew the wafer in his mouth and seemed rather surprised to find he liked it.

"Right, so, what exactly are you doing here?" Crowley asked.

The demon swallowed. "With you gone, it's taken 17 of us – "

"No, I got that bit. What are _you_ doing _here_?" Crowley set his hands on the table to indicate _in my immediate presence_.

"Oh, right. Well, I was wondering if you thought maybe there was another way?"

"Another way?"

"To be a demon. I mean, I don't really hate the people here – I mean, obviously I hate the angels and the humans and all God's creations, because obviously – but really they're mostly just… funny, you know. Like… " he waved his hands around, apparently at a loss. "Being afraid of water. That's funny."

It was, a bit.

"So, let me make sure I'm understanding here." Crowley put his phone down on the table, leaned back, and crossed his long legs. "You went out of your way to find the worst demon ever – and not good worst but traitor worst, abandoned Hell to shack up with an angel in a quiet English cottage worst – to ask advice on how to be a better demon?"

"Well, I did wait until the angel wasn't around."

"Right. 'Course, 'course, that fixes it. Wouldn't want to be caught talking with an angel. But the most hated demon in Hell's alright."

"Oh good," the demon said brightly. "Or bad. Yes."

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Look, just do what you know. Scare them. That'll spread plenty of misery around."

"Really? That's it?"

"Humans don't really need to be tempted. They can handle that on their own. Just, you know, bring a little bit of Hell to Earth."

"Well all right." The demon looked considerably brightened by this idea and stood up, knocking the chair backwards. He seemed startled by this, and bent to pick it up.

"Leave it," Crowley hissed, exasperated.

"Oh right. Well, thank you Crowley. You've been very helpful."

"Right. Glad to hear it. Now, for the love of Satan, please leave."

"Of course. Thank you. And, um, can I take one of these with me?" He leaned over to the biscuits.

"Leave!"

"Yes!"

He left. People in the shop were staring. Crowley glared at them through his glasses until they looked away.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale bustled in, making apologies and explaining that he found information about a concert he was interested in seeing later in the month. He righted the fallen chair and sat down.

"So sorry, again. Been waiting long?"

Crowley grinned and shook his head. "Not at all."

"Are those for me?"

Crowley pushed the plate of biscuits over to him.

And if, a few months later, Crowley came across a London tabloid article about some sort of deep sea fish monster that lived in the sewers and popped up to scare pedestrians witless, and if said article made him quietly smile, well, no one was going to know.

"What are you reading that's so funny, dear boy?"

Well, almost no one.


End file.
